


Trust

by SkyJourney



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Implied Torture, Nothing graphic tho its off screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 07:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18338705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyJourney/pseuds/SkyJourney
Summary: "It became a routine almost- interrogations followed by indeterminable stretches of time bleeding under flickering buzzing lights, broken up only by the second torture of horrible food. Unable to move and with only himself for company, Harlan imagined how nice it would be to have a gun. Then he could shoot the damn lights out, finally get some sleep for a change. Sleep. Sleep would be nice. Every time he even came close one of those legionnaires would come bursting in. Maybe the gun would have enough bullets for one of them too."





	Trust

Harlan tensed as he readied himself for another interrogation, but as the creaking door opened he let his shoulders relax. Even through his swollen eyes he could tell the person in the doorway wasn’t dressed in the red and black of the legionnaires.

 

The person came closer until he was standing right in front of Harlan. A young man, with blonde hair that looked as though he’d at least tried to tidy it, an effort which was lost in the face of torn rags and dirty bare feet. In his hands he carried several plates of what Harlan assumed was supposed to be food, although it certainly didn’t smell edible. The young man stared at Harlan for a second, presumably considering the logistics of how a man tied to a chair could feed himself, before sighing and putting down one of the plates. He must have fished a fork out from somewhere in his rags, because the next thing Harlan knew there was a forkful of food in front of his mouth.

 

It tasted about as good as it smelled.

 

Harlan forced a bite down; starvation almost seemed more pleasant a prospect than eating whatever this was. He looked up at his fellow prisoner.

 

“What’s your name?”

  
The young man bit his lip and glanced around. “Antonio. We… shouldn’t be talking.”

 

“Antonio… So, did they send you in here to make sure I don’t starve to death before I’m done being useful to them? Or is this a new method of torture they cooked up?”

  
“The first one. I think...” Antonio readied another fork, and Harlan forced it down. It was probably the second option, had to be. That or someone was just that bad at cooking.

  
“You didn’t ask?”

  
“If I asked questions like that I’d probably be tied to a chair just like yours. Hmm. Well, maybe not just like yours. I think you actually got one of the nicer chairs.”

  
“Guess I should consider myself lucky then.”

 

Antonio shrugged, and they continued the meal in silence until someone knocked loudly against the metal door, the sound booming in the small interrogation chamber. Antonio gathered the now empty plates and turned to go, knocking back once, gently, on the door, which opened to let him out. Before it could close behind him, the young man turned and gave Harlan a quick, smile, and then it clicked shut. Harlan was alone again.

 

* * *

 

It was difficult to tell time in the supply closet they called an interrogation room. Without windows and with the fluorescent light above him a constant hum, it was all Harlan could do to stay present at all. All the while Antonio continued to bring him meals. Sometimes it seemed like days had past between them, other times he could have sworn it had just been minutes since their last conversation. How many times had it been? 8? 10? He’d lost track almost right away, the lack of rest mixed with the pain getting to him. All Harlan knew for certain was that when the legionnaires were done with their fruitless interrogations, Antonio was there. The meal was more sludge than food and Antonio was slow to warm up to him, but it was a welcome change. Occasionally, Antonio even laughed quietly at one of Harlan’s comments.

 

Despite this, their conversations never lasted too long. The young man was scared- even in his current state Harlan had no problem telling that much. He didn’t blame him; he knew first hand what the legionnaires were capable of. They knew he’d been helping people escape New Vegas through the tunnels, that he knew the way to get through them safely. They’d force it out of him or kill him trying; but, Harlan’s shoulders sank, that was his fate no matter what he did, wasn’t it? He looked down at the young man, a friend even, kneeling on the ground before him, gathering the now empty plates. Despite the rags and the fearful glances, there was still a strength to Antonio; he couldn’t have been prisoner to the legion for long. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for him.

 

“I could help you get out of here, you know?” The clattering of the plates stopped. In one quick motion Antonio glanced back at the door, and then quickly shook his head at Harlan.

 

“Listen-wait just listen.”

 

A loud pounding on the door. “I really have to go.”

 

Harlan reached out as far as he could against the ropes tying him down, grabbing Antonio by the arm as he began to stand up. Antonio’s eyes went wide. “Let go. You’re going to get me in trouble.” Before he could pull his arm away, Harlan tightened his grasp, and with the last of his energy, pulled Antonio close enough to whisper the way out through the tunnels to him. Antonio staggered back, still staring at him as Harlan relinquished his hold on his arm, eyes large and panicked. Then another pounding sounded on the door, loud, forceful, and Antonio ran out as fast he could. Harlan watched him leave, hoping he’d take the chance given to him.

 

* * *

 

It’d been several meals since Harlan had last seen Antonio. His food now came to him at the hands of a legionnaire, who, Harlan was sad to say, was much worse company than the young man. No chance of winning him over with a joke or two. Harlan hadn’t thought it possible either, but somehow, he swore the food had gotten worse too.

 

Still he didn’t talk. The interrogations had gotten worse after Antonio was gone, but Harlan was determined; he couldn’t speak, not now. He needed to buy his fellow prisoner, maybe even his friend, time.

 

It became a routine almost- interrogations followed by indeterminable stretches of time bleeding under flickering buzzing lights, broken up only by the second torture of horrible food. Unable to move and with only himself for company, Harlan imagined how nice it would be to have a gun. Then he could shoot the damn lights out, finally get some sleep for a change. Sleep. Sleep would be nice. Every time he even came close one of those legionnaires would come bursting in. Maybe the gun would have enough bullets for one of them too.

 

Harland was interrupted from his fantasy as the door flew open with a loud bang. Two legionnaires burst in, and Harlan tried to gather himself, close his eyes and ready himself for that first blow, but it never came. Instead a strong hand pushed down on his shoulders, keeping Harlan from even squirming in the chair. He opened his eyes again, glancing at the other legionnaire directly before him, the light from the ceiling reflecting off of the weapon in his hands. Behind the legionnaire the hallway door stood wide open, and Harlan glanced desperately for some kind of help.

 

Watching him was a man in a canine hood of some sort, speaking in low voices to another man with short, blonde hair halfway between neat and disheveled. Antonio. They’d caught him. Damnit, Antonio had warned him, told him this would happen. Why did he have to give him the instructions?. Harlan struggled harder against his restraints, the rope digging, burning into his skin. It didn’t matter- they’d kill him anyways. He should have listened. Antonio needed to hear it, hear him say it. “Anto-” the young man turned, and Harlan froze. Gone were the large panicked eyes and the nervous glances. What was left wasn’t even cold, no it was worse than that. The look on Antonio’s face was completely apathetic.

 

Harlan stopped struggling as strong hands pushed him back down onto his chair. He barely heard the weapon readied at his head, the words spoken at him by the legionnaires. All of it was just background noise as his eyes locked with Antonio’s. A small smile spread on Antonio’s face.

 

He should have listened.

**Author's Note:**

> The working title for this was just "Antonio Liar Blargh" and changing that to a real title was the hardest thing I've ever done. Alternative summary: "my legion courier is awful for 1300 words."


End file.
